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This weight on my chest stays perched like it’s always been there. Usually I forget it even exists.

There’s a dizzy draining of my thoughts flowing down a pipe that I don’t remember placing in my foundation. My hands are open to catch anything that doesn’t make it through, but I can’t seem to close my fingers and everything slips. It touches my skin and for a moment, I think I can really feel it.

But then it’s gone.

I’m left cold from the memory of it ghosting and something is misplaced and I’m just a little bit off. This warmth under my skin is so unfamiliar and it radiates not unlike a poison and it evaporates everything that exits the end of that pipe.

The cold comforts in a sick way and I’m getting used to the heat. Sometimes, in my sick ways, I wish it would leave me with the frost that so easily cradles my very form. Those desires are fleeting now, and the warmth feels like the sun and I can almost bask in it.

But then I lose pieces of me that runs down that dizzy drain. The grip on the ledge that gives me clarity into me is so hard to hold onto. I’ve lost my grip a few times. I feel myself slip down the pipe with everything else and the tight walls leave me gasping for the water I can’t breathe in.

I ache for the cool running thoughts that flood my blood but all I am is warm.

I’ve always been drawn to red. To orange, to yellow. I’ve always ached for the warmth I never had.

Now all I dream of is blue.

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